Meditation on Willow and the 26th

I’m writing this on Friday instead of on Saturday as I do every other week. Tomorrow, Saturday, we’ll get up at 5 am, drive into Boston, go first to Lord & Taylor, then drive to the outlets at Wrentham to take advantage of the afterChristmas sales. It’s something we do every year, except the year I had my left knee replaced two and a half weeks earlier, when I was still mostly in bed. The cats have been having a wonderful holiday season. There are up to ten ‘kills’ a night – ornaments removed from the tree. We found a huge stash of them when we were cleaning. Willow had been hiding hers behind a chair. Willow is not beautiful. My friend Melenie [also my previous assistant] says she looks as if she was put together out of several other cats. She is predominantly white with large and small black spots. Her outsize tail belongs to a big tabby. She has orange under her chin. She sports half a moustache. We got her from The Last Resort no-kill shelter in Hanover MA. Willow is a wonderful cat. She is affectionate. She loves to sit on your lap or on your chest if you’re lying down, but will also curl up at your side if you don’t want her on you. She purrs when you touch her. She is equally affectionate with the other three cats, all of whom love her and vie for her company. She is very playful. She will play by herself with any likely toy. She plays with Xena and with Mingus every day. She caught on quickly that Sugar Ray, who will be 17 in February, does not wish to play and simply cuddles with him. She is almost always happy, her tail straight up like a furry flagpole. We call her The Cashmere Kitty because her fur is unbelievably soft. She eats whatever you give her with great relish. She has converted Mingus from a picky eater to a cat who puts away his food rather quickly. At night she sleeps in the bed or if she is wakeful, goes off quietly to prowl the house. She has never wakened me in the morning even when I occasionally sleep in. Looks aren’t everything even if purebred cats are bred often only for that. She is cute, not beautiful but I picked her from her conventionally pretty littermates for her personality, even if not fully formed at 11 weeks. She’s already among our great all-time cat companions. Whatever we are doing, she is there to join in. Wrap packages? Goodie! I can help. Cook? What fun. Read or rather try to read the newspaper? My turn, she says. Football? I'll watch too, from your lap. Drink coffee? I can still manage to snuggle, cup and all. Suppertime? I love family meals. Bath? I can sit on the rim of the tub. Sweep? I’m not afraid of the vacuum cleaner. I find it amusing. Why is everybody else hiding? Like many rescue cats, she tries to please and takes seriously a NO! or a raised voice. Because she was born in Joan Norris’s shelter and hand raised with lots of attention, she fears little. Xena, who is also a rescue, was feral and on the street after her mother was killed. She worries far more. She tries to protect us and prowls from door to window at least a third of the night. The brown brothers [they’re actually cousins] accepted her from the time she walked into the house. Xena did not attack her but was standoffish for three weeks. Now she believes Willow to be her daughter. That was a very easy birth, she says. She is twice Willow’s size. She throws her arms around Willow and holds her tight and washes her for twenty minutes.